


Want and Able

by chickcheney



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Fucking, M/M, Panty Kink, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickcheney/pseuds/chickcheney
Summary: “You—” Carisi cuts himself off. There’s heat in his voice, but it’s weak. When he finally looks back up at Rafael, his face is one of awe. “Do you? Do you want me to see?”





	Want and Able

**Author's Note:**

> My first Barisi fic since getting into the fandom... 2-3ish months ago? These goddamn lawyer boyfriends, I tell you.
> 
> I will admit this is is one choking kink away from being straight up Idfic, but there is some semblance of a get-together-fic plot going on. My Strong Opinions™ about insecure toppy Carisi and Soft Subby Barba are undeniably at play here, tough. 
> 
> Thanks to [booyahkendell](booyahkendell.tumblr.com) for the beta! 
> 
> Feel free to follow my on [tumblr](https://brobaiting.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](twitter.com/chickcheney), and check out my [Barisi fic rec list](https://brobaiting.tumblr.com/post/163389942869/the-big-damn-incomplete-barisi-fic-rec-list).

All lawyers haves secrets. Rafael is no exception. 

It’s easy to love the thrill of the job and get addicted to the booming feeling in your chest when a case is won and justice is brought to those who deserve it.

But it’s just as easy to agonize over a loss and search for solace in the bottom of a bottle. Without something to grip and spiral into, this job could consume you—a fact that’s been abundantly clear since the day he passed the bar decades ago. 

So every lawyer finds what they can to cope, to just get through the week. Some drink, snort expensive shit up their noses, or enjoy the thrill of anonymous sex. While he enjoys some of those things, too—in moderation—Rafael’s splurge of excess comes in one form. Safer, considering alternative avenues his colleagues have taken, but darker in its rarity.

So some lawyers snort coke or cruise to soothe the burn of a particularly awful case. Rafael doesn’t. Rafael dresses.

Or _un_ dresses, depending on the definition. When it gets down to it—when he’s tipsy enough to wade into the waters of introspection—he’ll allow himself to mull over the sense of comfort and safety slipping into satin and lace affords him. Nights like tonight when he has a tumbler of scotch in hand and the heat of his laptop warming his lap.

It’s times like these he wishes he could do his shopping offline. To go to the tiny boutiques on the upper east side where scantily clad yet elegant mannequins pose in shop windows. To run his fingers over lace and satin and _feel_.

But he can’t, so this will have to do.

He opens up an incognito window and types in the URL by heart. Tavern’s is one of the more elite lingerie shops on the web, the kind that overcharges for comfort and promises anonymity. An airbrushed model splashes across the ad on the screen and Rafael takes the time to admire her figure and the powder pink babydoll hugging it.

He sips from his scotch, scrolls through the site, credit card in hand.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’s a particularly grueling day in court. The defendant, a punky twenty-something with a shit-eating grin as big as his trust fund, dials up the charm and almost manages to get under Rafael’s skin. He grinds his teeth between confrontations, and snaps more than once.

God, but he’s always hated spoiled little frat boys.

During the recess, he has that ever elusive breakthrough. The kid’s argument, that he couldn’t have been in the room with the passed out vic because he was spotted halfway across campus not long before, is just strong enough to have gotten him this far, but flimsy enough that Rafael has no problem planting seeds of doubt it the jury’s mind.

“Let’s say I’m you, and I’m at this party,” Rafael starts.

“Uh, I don’t think so, dude,” the little worm interrupts with a smile. “I wouldn’t dress like that.”

The vein in Rafael’s neck almost bursts right then and there. Instead of spewing out a slew of expletives, he plasters on a predatory smile. He yanks his tie off and throws it on the table. He pulls his tightly tucked shirt out of his pants and lets it hang down loosely. The kid’s brow furrows as he takes in the display, clearly lost.

When he’s done, Rafael leans against the desk and crosses his arms “There. I’m sans craft beer, but I think you can get the picture now.”

He has the nerve to laugh, as if Rafael’s his _friend_ and they’re just palling around.

He’s going to enjoy destroying him.

The slow transition of the kid’s face going from smooth confidence to increasingly panicked realization as Rafael paints the story—gaping holes in the narrative and all—is so sweet that by the end, when he’s sputtering out a half-formed excuse, Rafael has a shit-eating grin himself.

The court finds him guilty on one count of aggravated sexual assault, and two counts forcible penetration. The smug, accomplished feeling he lets bask over him is only tempered by the grateful, relieved tears of the victim. All that’s left is a quiet warmth. It’s something he’s felt more times than he can count over the course of his career, but it never gets old.

He clings on to that feeling as the exhaustion settles in. The case has had him missing nights—no more than usual, but enough that the thought of falling asleep in his office rather than drive all the way home sounds like the best idea he’s had in awhile.

He does his routine and gives a statement to the press, then quickly and quietly slips away from the hubbub and back to his office. Carmen wordlessly hands him notes when he shuffles in. He doesn’t have to tell her to hold off all of his calls or meetings that have anything to do with bureaucratic bullshit—she already knows. That’s why he hired her.

He regrets that decision for the very first time when she pokes her head through his door not ten minutes later, and says, “Detective Carisi wants to see you.”

The request is so odd that he doesn’t even think before he nods. Carisi strolls in with a meek grin, the door closing softly behind him.

“Counselor.”

Rafael tilts his head to the side. “Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Carisi shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “Just, ah, you know. Wanted to congratulate you on a hard won case out there. That was something else.”

“Oh, dear, I feel I can die happy now, knowing you’re proud of me,” he drawls. 

That earns him an eye roll. “God, I didn’t mean to insult you. I just—that was impressive.”

“Please, no more compliments. I’m swooning here.” As much fun as it is to tease the detective, Rafael is honestly confused. Carisi has been there for quite a few hard won cases, and he stopped coming by to compliment him on it after the initial hero worship had worn off, that pedestal he’d placed Rafael on long forgotten. Abandoned, along with his eager innocence and pornstache. 

Maybe he’s schmoozing, Rafael wonders with a dry smile. Acting like a real lawyer for a change.

“Can you just take the compliment?” Carisi says with a little more snap in his voice than Rafael was expecting. 

It’s a reminder that he isn’t the only one that’s been hit over the head with this case. Arguably, the detectives have taken the brunt of the whole thing. And while Rafael is sympathetic to Carisi’s plight, he’s more annoyed with the world and a little too eager for the chance to take that anger out on something— _someone_ —else.

So he leans back in his chair and regards him with a dismissive sigh. 

“Sure, Carisi. I can take a compliment. I can also take a hint. If only you could, too.”

He only catches the tail end of the near epic eye roll-annoyed sigh combo that Carisi gives him before he turns back around to shuffle papers needlessly on his desk. 

“If you need help finding the door, I can call Carmen back in.”

He looks up at the small mirror Carmen had put up last week so that he wouldn’t have to keep going into the bathroom to fix his ties to peek at what he already knows from plenty of turns around this block will be a dumbfounded, pissed look on Carisi’s face. 

Only, he’s not looking at Rafael at all.

Well, no. He is looking at him. He’s just looking _down_.

Rafael follows the line of his eye in the mirror and freezes. Black lace, peeking above the waistline of his grey slacks, subdued in its color but unmistakable in its pattern. His loosened shirt is tucked uselessly up on his hip, and he grabs it and yanks it down with all the finesse of a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

There’s a moment of near-excruciating silence while they both wait for someone to do _something_. Rafael doesn’t move, doesn’t look up for fear of seeing that ugly red splash of color on his face, an alarm bell screaming CAUGHT across his cheeks. 

“Um,” Carisi says dumbly.

Anger flares up inexplicably in Rafael’s chest. He grabs onto it with everything he’s got. Anger he can deal with. Being mad as hell is an art and he’s more than fucking mastered it.

With that little utterance Carisi has effectively ruined any chance for either of them to pretend that this isn’t happening. It’s irrational, and maybe not as accurate as he’d like, but it’s what he clings to in the moment. 

He whirls around and pins Carisi with a fierce glare. The detective flinches just the slightest, and it’s like a battle won.

“Well?” He goads in a deceptively calm voice. “Do you have something to say? A snide schoolboy remark you’re just _itching_ to giggle out?”

Carisi looks on the verge of having a heart attack. “What? No! I—no! I just–”

“Because if you think you’re going to make me feel insecure in my own fucking office, you’re dead wrong. I stare down perverts and rapists for a living. No two-bit detective scares me.”

He’s aware he’s being unfair, that his voice is getting louder and his muscles more strained. An annoying little voice telling him he’s _overreacting_ whispers in his head—bizarrely, with his mother’s tone, but he ignores it. If he doesn’t have this, this anger and hubris, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. And that is terrifying.

Anger flashes over Carisi’s face fierce enough to humble, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. What’s left is the worst of all: pity. Dominick “Call Me Sonny” Carisi, Jr. feels sorry for him, and it burns deep in Rafael’s gut and prickles his skin.

He can’t look at it. He turns his back to the detective and leans against the desk as a force of emotions threatens to gut him completely. The sound of his breathing is too loud in the silence, but he’s afraid that if he tries to be quiet he might suffocate completely.

This is stupid. This is so incredibly fucking stupid, and it’s all his own fault. Fuck him. Fuck Carisi. Fuck this dirty little secret.

Shuffling and the sound of footsteps gives him hope that Carisi may have garnered up enough human decency to leave, but that hope is dashed when the sound of the door opening doesn’t follow. Gripping the edge of the desk, he chances a look up into the mirror and catches deep blue eyes staring back.

Carisi rubs the back of his neck with a small, awkward smile. “A, ah…a boyfriend of mine in college used to wear these little fancy underwears. You know the ones. Lace and satin and pink bows and all that. Sometimes when he’d be walking around, I could see the edge of ‘em peeking out. It was so hot. He said it was like wearing a secret, you know? That nobody in the world knew but him that there was something more underneath it all.”

Rafael’s face feels on the verge of melting off, not from anger or annoyance, but worse: humiliation. Something close to pure hatred flashes in him as he looks at Carisi’s tentative smile, but it’s impossible to hold on to. Embarrassment and exhaustion win out over everything and press weights down onto his shoulders. 

“What is this? Are you trying to...what, mock me? Because I have to say ‘bully,’ like most things, isn’t a good color on you.” His voice is irritatingly quiet despite the heat he can feel pumping in his veins. 

“No! I just want to say…I understand. I understand it.”

He squints and studies Carisi’s earnest face, searching for the buried lie or insincerity. Carisi, despite being a seasoned detective and an above average newbie lawyer, is almost uncomfortably vulnerable in his expression. There’s nothing in his eyes but pure authenticity. He feels a sick sort of disappointment in that. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t so genuine.

The comforting, defensive drive of anger still alludes him, so he tries for something different. Forcing a smile, he raises an eyebrow and feigns interest. 

“So you had a boyfriend in college, Detective?” 

The blush that’s been creeping up Carisi’s collar since he came in finally finds its way to his cheeks. “Um, yeah. Yes.”

“A bit of college experimentation, huh? Trading handjobs in your dorm room? Sonny, I never knew.” The chosen nickname rolls off of his tongue on slickened spikes. He finds the open wound and begins to slip his fingers inside, soft and punishing. 

Carisi, perhaps hardened by being on the receiving end of jibes both playful and decidedly jugular-aimed, only squares his shoulders. “Sounds like someone’s projecting.”

The response is so quick and unexpected that Rafael laughs, surprised. He’s annoyed by how quick on his feet Carisi has gotten almost as much as he’s impressed by it.

Still though, it’s a challenge. He never backs down from a challenge. 

“Am I wrong?” He presses.

“Am I?” Carisi parries. 

“If you’re asking me if I spent my college years with one hand in my books and the other down a frat boy’s lap, you’d be half-right,” Rafael says matter-of-factly. Maybe he would be embarrassed by the admission if he was anyone else, or younger, or if this wasn’t Sonny Carisi, boy lawyer. As it stands, he feels almost indestructible, given the current situation. “I’m not ashamed of that.”

“I dated men in college. Date men now, too. I’m not ashamed of that, either.”

Carisi stares at him through the mirror, square-jawed and unmoved. Rafael sees enough underneath that bravado—the wobbling chin, the clenching and unclenching of his fists. He realizes with a distant start that this may be the first time the detective has ever admitted this to someone out loud, and there’s a certain devastation in knowing that he’s meant to carry the weight of this now.

Something—be it obligation as the more seasoned of the two, or Rafael going soft in his old age—has him softening his words. 

“If you’re anything like me, you’re certainly ashamed of some of those men.”

Carisi’s laugh is startled but genuine, and maybe a little louder than necessary. Relieved, maybe. As if the forty-six-year-old man in expensive panties would be in any position to mock someone’s sexuality.

Carisi’s laughter dies down and his smile is once again replaced with a twisted half-grimace. “So you’re, uh… are you....?”

Rafael has half a mind to play dumb and make Carisi say it. The idea is tempting, but is dismissed with effort. Carisi is vulnerable, and Rafael is not in a position to tease. At least, not too much.

He forces himself to turn around and lean casually against the desk.

“Bi, actually.”

“Me too!” Carisi nearly shouts. A fresh wave of color splashes over his face as he catches himself a second too late. Rafael smirks but has the decency not to say anything. 

“Well, it’s nice having a kindred spirit around,” he jokes, but there’s no bite to it. Carisi must pick up on it because he bobs his head.

“Yeah,” he says. The smile on his face is a little too relieved. Rafael is well aware of the boys club culture that is the NYPD. While Rafael himself was a private person by nature, the threat of being outed or discriminated against in the DA’s office has always been relatively small. There’s always been talk, but he’s always had the luxury of ignoring it. Carisi wouldn’t have that option. 

“Yeah,” Rafael parrots.

Carisi’s long fingers drum nervously against his thigh. Rafael tracks the movements and counts his breaths until his heartbeat is somewhat normal again.

“Well, I should go,” Carisi says abruptly. It takes his long legs two steps to get from the couch to the door. His hand hovers above the doorknob. Rafael can see the gears churning in his head.

“I won’t tell anyone about—”

“I know,” Rafael cuts him off, because he does know. Carisi is a lot of things, but insensitive isn’t one of them. “Thank you.”

His flush deepens again. “And you, uh, you won’t tell anyone about, ah—”

“About how your ex-boyfriends can’t pull off a pair of women’s undergarments as well as me? If I must,” he drawls.

That surprises a laugh out of Sonny. Rafael allows his own lips to twitch up in a self-deprecating smile. It was almost worth it to get the troubled wrinkle out of the young detective’s brow.

“You know, I can’t exactly make that comparison,” Sonny says. “I haven’t even seen yours, not really.”

“Do you want to?”

It's meant to be a joke, but his voice comes out a little too gruff to be convincing. 

“Can I?”

Rafael stares. The look on Carisi’s face must mirror his own in its frozen shock of , _”What the hell did he just say?”_ A thrill shoots up Rafael’s spine and tingles all the way down to his toes. His cock twitches in between its lacy confines, and not for the first time, he wonders how the hell he got here.

Carisi forces a laugh belatedly. “I’m just joking with you, Counselor.”

The lie is so transparent Rafael almost feels embarrassed for him. Almost. As it stands, all he can do is smirk and indulge the heat pooling slowly in his stomach. 

There was always a certain thrill in getting Carisi riled up; it’s a pastime he’d allowed himself early on in their acquaintanceship. Over the years, he’d softened his approach as Carisi proved himself to be more than just a stray that had been bounced from division to division and into a competent detective with a promising legal path. Still, he had missed this. Having the upperhand, toying with him until he turned red with frustration and embarrassment.

“About seeing my panties, or about being unable to make the comparison?”

Carisi rubbed the back of his neck and refused to make eye contact. “Come on, counselor.”

“If it’s the latter, I’m insulted. I would hope that I have better taste than a broke college student, but I digress.”

“You—” Carisi cuts himself off. There’s heat in his voice, but it’s weak. When he finally looks back up at Rafael, his face is one of awe. “Do you? Do you want me to see?”

His mouth goes dry. The semblance of control he’d managed to wrangle back from this situation slips just like the open part of Carisi’s pink lips. He takes in the look on Carisi’s face: lips parted, eyes wide with dark want, a desperate pull in his brow. His cock twitches again.

“Yes,” falls out of his mouth before he even thinks the word. 

Carisi’s in his space in three long strides. His hands twitch and hover in the air until they finally rest on Rafael’s hips. For a suspended moment, neither of them moves. Carisi’s looking at him with wide, almost fearful eyes, and it’s only when he sees the brief moment of hesitation sparking in them that Rafael surges forward.

The first thing he notices when he licks into Sonny’s mouth is that he tastes like coffee. It’s disorientating, but only because he’s associates the pink bow of the detective’s lips as always being wrapped carelessly around some sweet Italian pastry. The shock isn’t enough to make him stop exploring the deep crevices of his mouth, tracing the outline of his teeth as if he can commit it all to memory.

That seems to jumpstart Carisi, who presses close to rub his growing hardness against Rafael’s thigh, and grinds. He moans, rattling the teeth in Rafael’s mouth with the force of his want.

He breaks their kiss with a whimper and pants, “Oh, Christ,” in the space between their mouths. His eyes are dark, and yet somehow still so bright and vulnerable, so open.

He closes them as he takes in a shaky breath, and Rafael stupidly thinks he misses them before Carisi opens his eyes again.

“Can I—”

“Yeah,” Rafael says, knowing that whatever it is Carisi wants to give him, he’ll take, “yeah, Carisi, do it.”

Carisi’s hands tightening on his hips is the only warning he gets before he’s being flipped around to face the window. The outline of Carisi’s cock, hot and hard and heavy, presses against his ass, and it takes all the willpower he has not to moan desperately. The new angle presses his cock against the side of the desk and scratches the lace against the underside of his balls, already barely contained as he continues to grow more and more desperate. 

Carisi’s hands drift from his hips to his chest, seemingly aimless until he they settle on his abdomen. Lips press against his ear and blow breath as hot and burning as his skin.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” Caris says, almost reverently. He guides a hand over, and Rafael nearly keels over like a goddamn seventh grader getting his dick touched for the first time.

Eventually—and thank fucking God—Carisi undoes his belt and pants and shoves a hand inside. He freezes the moment his fingers hit lace, and sucks in an audible breath.

“Jesus Christ, you’re really—”

Yes, I am, now get the fuck to it is maybe too harsh for the situation, so Rafael settles on pressing his own hand over Carisi’s and pushing. They both groan as Carisi’s cock presses harder against his back.

“Touch me,” Rafael says breathily, desperately. 

If he was expecting Carisi to burst into action as he normally does, ever eager to please, he’s wrong. He’s still running his fingers over the delicate patterns straining to contain the girth of Rafael’s cock with featherlight, exploring touches. Rafael feels like he’s going to lose his goddamn mind, and what’s worse is he wants every fucking bit of it.

Carisi crowds in even closer against his back and forces him to bend slightly over the solid structure of his desk. Rafael’s hands shoot out so he can brace and balance himself against the increasing pressure of Carisi’s searching hips. He grinds forcefully enough to dig Rafael’s hips into the wood where there will no doubt be twin bruises in the morning. The pleasure-pain of it makes him dizzy and loose.

“You’ve been wearing these all day and nobody even knew,” Carisi whispers against his ear. He grips his dick through the material suddenly and Rafael loses his breath. “Meetings, talking to the squad, in court, and no one had a fucking clue you were—Christ. That’s so hot, Barba, _God_.”

“ _You_ know,” Rafael says, and he’s hot and dizzy and doesn’t know if he means it to be defensive or accusatory or worshipping. 

Carisi nods so quickly his head might go flying off. “I know, because you let me see. You wanted me to see.”

His hand finally slips down the waistband of Rafael’s pants. Heat and flesh wrap firmly around his dick and give a tug, and if it wasn’t for Carisi trapping him against the desk, he might collapse. 

And that’s what it feels like: being trapped. He’s trapped between a desk and a hard place, completely at Carisi’s mercy, and that shouldn’t make his head rush with want as much as it does. 

“What do you want?” Carisi whispers, lips pressed against his ear and sending another line of electricity down his spine. “Please, tell me.”

“That,” comes Rafael's inelegant reply. “Ah, fuck, keep doing that.”

Carisi doesn’t pick up the pace, but he does press harder. It’s not a lot, it’s not even enough, but Rafael feels like he’s about a second away from falling apart all the same. It’s been too long since he’s had this, a firm grip wrapped around him that wasn’t his own. Carisi’s fingers are long and calloused, and even through the layer of fabric, he can feel the heat and promise of them.

The tip of Carisi’s finger brushes the head of his cock that’s protruding from his waistline and Rafael keens. The sound spurs Carisi into action and he finally shoves the panties down far enough to get his hand around the full length of Rafael’s cock. He strokes it from base to slick tip in firm, twisting pulls that have Rafael digging his fingers into nothing on the desk’s flat surface. 

Carisi’s other hand grabs a palm full of his ass and squeezes at the same time he grinds down. Rafael’s hips buck in response and pull a low, whimpering moan from Carisi’s throat. The fire that’s been licking at his veins grows impossibly hotter as the sound of Carisi’s own desperation plays like a symphony in his ear. The solid outline of Carisi’s cock pressing against his ass in a constant grind is a promise of something more that makes his teeth grind and mouth salivate. 

“You wanna fuck me, Detective?” The words spill out of his mouth snarling and loud, but too desperate to be truly cocky. He emphasizes his words by rubbing back against Carisi. Carisi’s hand grips almost too hard where it’s wrapped around his cock, but he’s so close and it’s so good that he welcomes it with a low moan. 

“Yeah, fuck, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you so deep you can’t even speak, hold you down and _give it to you_ just so I can shut you up for once.” Carisi presses him harder against the desk until the edge pressing against Rafael’s hips is more painful that just uncomfortable. A part of Rafael is distantly aware he should feel offended, but the part of him that’s too fucked and hazy to pretend groans in approval. “Oh fuck, you like that, don’t you? You want me to.”

The image comes vividly to life all at once behind his lids: bent over the desk so his cheek is pressed against the forgotten pile of paperwork on his desk, the stitching and expensive lace stretched and pulled to the side so Carisi could slide in, long fingers tattooing bruises on his hips as Carisi made good on his promise to shut him up.

His orgasm builds at the bottom of his spine and slowly builds as Carisi slurs more filth in his ear. His hips attempt aborted, ineffectual thrusts into Carisi’s firm grip as he loses himself, slowly, then all at once. Despite the build, his own orgasm takes him by surprise. He covers Carisi’s hand and, miracle of miracles, misses his panties.

Carisi’s arm wrapped around him is the only thing keeping him up as he comes down and regains his breath. When his heart stops pounding and the cool air hitting his cock starts feeling grating, he gently pushes back against Carisi until the detective let's go.

He tucks his cock back into his panties without turning around and walks back around his desk to grab the pocket square out of his jacket pocket. He wipes the stray drops of come from his panties before zipping back up. All the while, he feels blue eyes tracking him like a caged lion follows prey. When he looks up, he finds Carisi looks less like a lion and more like a desperate, hungry man wearing his want on his sleeve.

Rafael slowly walks over and takes Carisi’s soiled hand in his own and slowly wipes it clean, never breaking eye contact all the while. Before he finishes, Carisi gently pulls his hand away and licks the last of it off of his fingers, blue eyes dark and focused and yearning. Rafael’s breath hitches in his throat. 

His eyes flick to the prominent outline of Sonny’s cock. His fingers still clutching the pocket square reach out and brush the bulge and earn a broken whine from Carisi.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Mr. Barba?” Carmen calls through the door. “Ms. Kabas is here to see you.”

Whatever spell had fallen over them is broken in the next instant. Carisi blanches and scrambles away with all the finesse of a newborn colt. As the only one of them with blood flowing back through their brain, Rafael takes the initiative to grab a bulky file from his desk and shove it at him.

He swallows until his throat doesn’t feel scratchy and loaded before calling back, “Just a second!” 

He turns to look at Carisi, who’s holding the file in front of his lap like a lifeline. The scare has cleared the hazy darkness in his eyes and restored them to bright blue. He looks uncomfortable, bordering on terrified, and Rafael digs deep into the part of him that hasn’t been thoroughly wrecked to grab a smile.

“I should—”

“Are you—”

They both fall silent. Silence stretches between them as they stare at each other. Anxiety and the familiar moan of self-doubt threatens to creep up in him until Carisi cracks a smile and chuckles nervously.

“I’m sorry, what—what were you saying?”

Rafael clears his throat and lifts his chin, defiant despite the absurdity of it all. “I was asking if you had any plans this evening, Detective.”

Carisi looks surprised—as if he didn’t just have his hand around Rafael’s cock, whispering filth about shutting him up—but there’s a glimmer of naked hope that makes Rafael want to shrink back as much as it makes him want to fill Carisi’s space.

“Yeah! I mean, no, no I don’t have any plans. But, if you… if you’d like to—”

“I’m off at nine.” He balls up the square in his hand and walks back around his desk to toss it in the trash. There’s no way it’s salvageable now. “Unless you’re stuck doing grunt work…”

“No, I can make it.” Carisi’s enthusiasm is palpable and warms something in his chest. “I’ll be there.”

Carisi lingers in their companionable silence before he he scurries off toward the door, file of useless backdated documents the only thing covering his dignity from Carmen, Kabas, and God.

Rafael sits back in his chair and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s savoring the moment, or bracing himself before he inevitably over-thinks this to death and ends up doing something self-sabotaging, but it does the trick. The image of Carisi, dark-eyed and wanting—wanting _him_ —paints the inside of his eyelids and settles.

He doesn’t think about what this means, the implications, where things are supposed to go from here. He doesn’t allow himself to get sucked into the spiral of Carisi’s _feelings_ or _intentions_ , especially not when he can sit and replay the soft, longing look in crystal blue and quietly come to his own conclusion.

He smooths down his tie and adjusts himself one more time before paging Carmen.

**____________________________**

It's a miracle Sonny's managed to make it through the day in one piece. The moment he'd walked out of Barba's office after spending a few minutes thinking of his Nonna and sick puppies, Amanda shoved a case file in his face and he was gone. He barely had time to think about how hours before he had _jerked Rafael Barba off in his office_. Until now, of course.

He walks past the doorman and ducks his head when the man smiles at him in greeting as if anyone can see plainly written on his face how he's rushed through Manhattan traffic to fuck his boss's best friend in his pretty lace panties.

He takes the steps two at a time, not out of eagerness but because he's always restless when he's nervous. When he gets to the door he inhales before knocking.

Silence.

His mind instantly supplies a number of reasons Barba might have changed his mind: he's in the shower; he's busy pulling some silk stockings over his toned legs; he's changed his mind. 

He contemplates just bolting and dealing with the consequences later when Barba opens the door.

He's in a fluffy black robe that's been worn with wear. The image of Barba in some ratty bathrobe is somehow even more jarring than the glimpse of his panties. It's so domestic, so pedestrian. Sonny is left feeling slightly off-kilter as Barba silently steps aside to allow him in.

"Sorry about the mess," he says as Sonny follows him through the hall and to a tiny kitchen island. "I only got home an hour ago."

Under any other circumstance, Sonny would make a joke, something about lawyers and mess. There are files messily arranged on the coffee table and a travel mug with a ring around it on the island Barba's currently leaning on, assessing him with unreadable eyes.

"Do you want some coffee?" Barba asks.

"Sure."

Barba bridges the space between them until they're breathing each other's air. He smirks slow and kitten-slick. "I'm out."

That startles a laugh out of Sonny that gets swallowed when Barba places a hand on his chest. Even through the fabric of the suit, it feels like Barba's hand is searing a brand into his flesh. Like if he stepped away right now, he'd be marked with the evidence of Barba's reckless curiosity. 

"Are you nervous?" Barba asks in a voice softer than Sonny's ever heard it before.  
_Yes_ , he thinks but doesn't say. It's one thing to be so caught up in the moment you can't think. It's another to cut himself and let his insides bleed out to the shark in the water.

Barba's smile falters. He clears his throat and lets his hand fall away. Sonny feels ice in the space he's left. "We don't have to do this."

Barba takes a step back, but Sonny grabs him by the waist with more force than he intends. Barba sucks in a breath, but he doesn't look hurt or scared. If Sonny had to put a name to the emotion smoldering underneath the carefully concealed bravado, he'd call it want.

"I want to. I want to do this," he says eagerly, tripping over his words. He gives an experimental tug and Barba comes easily, wide-eyed and open. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do this."

"Tell me."

There's the smallest note of desperation in Barba's voice, a sliver of quivering voice harshing his normally melodic baritone. But when he turns to look at him his face is carefully blank. With a flash, he remembers the needy way Barba asked Sonny to touch him as if Sonny held everything he ever needed in the palm of his hand. The glimpse he'd caught of Barba wanting to be treated like a dirty, pretty thing.

He licks his lips and delights in the way Barba's eyes track the movement. "Do you remember the McGregor case? That grisly rape and torture from two years ago?

"Kind of a mood breaker, but yes, I remember."

"You fought hard."

He tilts his head, expression guarded. "Are you implying I usually don't?"

"Stop, you know what I mean."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't speak, only lifts an eyebrow as if to say _Fine. And?_

"You fought hard, and I remember watching you up there using all your bravado to convince what started as a dead-eyed jury to look at a sex worker and view her as a person first, then a victim. You cared and you fought, and that's when I knew. You're a force of nature, Barba."

Barba stands up a little more, and squares his shoulders "Rafael."

"What?"

"Call me Rafael. At least it does something for you personally, I'd rather not be reminded of work right now."

Sonny allows himself a small smile. "Only if you'll call me Sonny."

Rafael rolls his eyes, pretending to be put out. "Is that necessary?"

"Do you want to call me ‘Carisi' during work?"

"Well, that's how I've always imagined it."

Sonny shivers and pushes away the idea that Rafael has thought about this before to the back of his mind. He can't go losing this battle now.

"Can't you just do what I tell you?"

"And they call _me_ bossy."

"I have to be bossy. Otherwise, you won't do what I tell you."

"You just want to be in charge."

"You like it when I'm in charge."

It's not a question, but not quite a statement either. There's a part of him that isn't certain, doesn't trust that he has the privilege of assuming what it is Rafael wants, but his gut tells him it's true. Barba's lack of rebuttal is as good an answer as any. Sonny shivers as he unlaces the robe and lets it fall away. 

His breath catches in his throat.

He never stood a chance.

Because Rafael Barba is standing in front of him in nothing but a ruby red babydoll. The lace looks as if it's painted on his skin, red bringing out the warmth of tan skin like it was made to hug Barba's strong frame. Through the slit, he sees a glimpse of red lace, a promise of what's to come. 

He stares so long that Rafael has to clear his throat to draw his attention. He looks smug when Sonny finally tears his eyes away, but Sonny catches the flutter of Barba's throat that betrays the bravado. The idea is almost laughable, that Rafael Barba would feel insecure in front of him, but Sonny understands. He understands that there is a level of trust here, fragile and new. There's no way he's messing that up.

He lets his eyes rake over Rafael's body from head-to-toe. "You look beautiful," he breathes it like a prayer. 

Rafael looks up at him through his lashes, eyes more black than green. The light dusting of pink across his cheeks would be nearly imperceptible on his tan skin if you weren't looking. Luckily for Sonny, he's never not looking.

Rafael must notice because he crowds back in again and takes away his ability to think. He wraps his arms around Sonny's neck and draws their faces closer together. He leans in to connect their lips through pure instinct, but Rafael pulls back and he meets nothing but air.

"Don't tell me you came here just to wax poetic about me in the middle of my kitchen, Sonny."

Sonny huffs a laugh that blows against Rafael's lips and makes his eyes flutter just slightly. This thing between them, this game, has shifted again somehow. Rafael is back on the offensive, and toying with him about it. 

Dangling control in Sonny's face because he wants him to snatch it back. And Sonny wants nothing more than to give him what he wants. 

He draws up to his full height so that Rafael has to crane his neck up to maintain eye contact. Rafael stares up at him, thick lashes canopying green eyes. Sonny would tell him he's beautiful again if it wouldn't mean showing his hand. 

He leans in close so that those same lashes flutter when he exhales and kisses him. Rafael all but melts into it. His arms around Sonny's neck tighten and pull him closer. Just as a hot tongue traces the seam of his lips he pulls back. Rafael growls at the loss and pins him with a glare, still in control enough to throw a fit at not getting what he wants. Sonny makes a note undo that.

He rubs soothing circles into the scratching lace at Rafael's hips. "Tell me what you want." 

"You know what I want," Rafael says impatiently.

"Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."

He experiments with the timbre of his voice and lets it go low enough for Rafael to hear the rumble where their chests are pressed together. The effect is as desired; Rafael doesn't shoot for a smart remark or a timely and leveling eye roll. For a moment Sonny thinks he's pressed too far, but Rafael takes in a shaky breath and quells those fears.

He breathes the words more than says them. "I want you to touch me."

It's vague, but it's something. It's a request said not out of spite or impatience, but yearning. Because he knows Sonny can give this to him. Because he wants him to. 

Sonny leans in and kisses him, a thank you for his cautious honesty. "Yeah?" he coaxes for more.

"I want you in my mouth," he growls. "I could feel you when you were rutting against me like a dog in my office. Big. _Thick_." He slots a leg between Sonny's legs and drags it against where he's heard and wanting. Sonny hisses and leans into it. "Do you want to fuck my mouth?"

"Of course I do. I always do," Sonny grunts in return. Mustering all the willpower at his disposable, he tightens his grip on Rafael's hips and stops his movement. "But I asked you what _you_ wanted."

Rafael looks like he might start a fight over that— _objection, semantics_ —but ultimately makes a sound halfway between a groan and a whine and closes his eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Sonny? That I want you to make me feel pretty?"

It's supposed to be a joke, but it falls flatly between them. Rafael's smiling in that sardonic way he does when Sonny's said something particular deserving of ridicule, but it's strained. There's too much truth in the words for Rafael to pass it off as flippant, and once again Sonny's heart aches for the man in front of him. He can't even begin to imagine how much being vulnerable and letting someone in like this must be for someone like Rafael. It only makes him want to treasure this opportunity even more.

He lets his hand slide up and down Rafael's sides and silently delights when he shudders. Quietly, he swears, "If that's what you want, I can do that."

He surges in and kisses him again. Rafael doesn't hesitate in reciprocating, only tightens his arms around Sonny's neck again and opens his mouth wide. It's hot and heady, and Sonny's already harder than he's ever been with Rafael Barba in lingerie pressed against him, but this isn't how this is supposed to happen. If he's savoring it, he wants to savor it right. 

He pulls away again and can't help but smile fondly when Rafael whines. 

"Bedroom?" He asks. 

Rafael grabs his hand and leads him to the back of the apartment. When they enter Rafael's bedroom Sonny allows him one self-indulgent moment to take stock of it: the soft gray carpet, the stack of thick texts at the foot of the king bed in the middle, the framed photo of what must be his mom on the nightstand. Blanching slightly, Sonny flips it face down. Rafael rolls his eyes.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to throw out a witty and devastating comment, but Sonny silences him with a kiss. Rafael goes pliant in his arms again, and Sonny is almost afraid of how quickly he can get used to that.

Pulling back, he swipes his thumb over Rafael's bottom lip and whispers, "Can you get on your knees for me, sweetheart?"

Rafael gives a full-body shiver before sliding down to his knees on the plush carpet. He runs a hand over the bulge straining Sonny's zipper before tugging it down. Sonny watches transfixed as Rafael mouths wetly as his clothed cock. Another moment of surrealness passes over him, this _holy fucking shit this is really happening_ feeling that's hounded him since Rafael bent over his desk and asked for Sonny to touch him, to _see_. It doesn't go away until Rafael pulls his underwear down and takes him into his mouth because then Sonny can't think about anything at all.

"Oh," he breathes as Rafael swirls his tongue over his slut. "Oh—oh, _fuck_."`

Rafael sucks and licks until Sonny's fully hard, then he slides all the way down until his nose is buried in the dark brown curls at his base. He moans, sending vibrations curling up Sonny's legs and ringing low in his gut. He pulls off to breath with a wet and dirty _pop_ before sliding back down, eager and wanting.

Sonny looks down and nearly buckles at the sight there. Rafael on his knees, lacy red babydoll hiked up his thighs, cock tinting his pretty red panties, green looking up at Sonny through thick lashes. There's no other word to call this scene but pretty. Sonny feels delirious with it.

Experimentally, he threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Rafael's skull and tugs. Rafael chokes and moans and collapses underneath his hold like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Asking, silently, for Sonny to fuck his mouth. Sonny's never seen anything hotter.

He plants his feet wider apart and gives a tentative yet firm pull. Rafael goes easily, sliding down his cock far enough for Sonny to feel the slight constriction of his throat. Soon enough they've picked up a rhythm: Sonny fucking into Rafael's mouth with a rough hand in his hair, and Rafael holding still like the loveliest little doll Sonny's ever seen. 

"Look at you, so fucking pretty." The stream-of-consciousness praise spills from his mouth uncontrollably. Embarrassment threatens to well up, but the way Rafael stutters on his cock and moans, high and needy, bolsters him on. "You like that, huh? Letting me fuck your mouth. Taking my cock so good. Jesus Christ, Raf, how are you even _real_ —"

Rafael whimpers and preens under the praise, sticking out his chest and widening his thighs. That's when Sonny realizes, through the fog of pleasure, that Rafael isn't touching himself. 

"You won't touch yourself unless I tell you, huh?" He blurts, awestruck.

Rafael's eyes flutter, cheeks flushed rosy with exertion and embarrassment. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to. Sonny knows. 

Feeling pleased and bubbly, Sonny uses the hand not currently holding Rafael in place to stroke his cheek. "So good. You wanna be good for me, is that it? _God_."

He's sure he's never blasphemed more in his life. He's sure there's never been worth blaspheming over more in his life, too. He's got Rafael Barba on his knees in his cute babydoll letting Sonny choke him on his cock, hard and aching for it but not touching himself because _Sonny didn't say he could_.

Sonny yanks him off his cock with a little more force than necessary, putting a hard stop to it lest he shoot his load right then and there. Rafael growls deep and tries to swallow him down again, but Sonny tightens his grip none too gently.

"I know," he coos gently, a contrast from the way he's grabbing Rafael's hair hard enough to hurt, "I know, baby. You want me to finish in your mouth so you can drool my come all over that expensive lingerie. Trust me, I do too, but I want to fuck you so bad."

Green eyes stare up at him in a something that might be considered reverential if Sonny were ever to allow himself to think Rafael could look at him in such a way. He unfists his grip on Rafael's hair and smooths it down gently before grabbing his arm and hauling him up. Rafael wobbles a bit on his feet and has to grip on to Sonny for purchase. Sonny is almost a full head taller than him, but even vulnerable and shaking with anticipation Rafael seems larger than life.

Feeling bold, he presses a kiss to Rafael's forehead. 

"How are you real?" He asks because he honestly doesn't know. Rafael blushes a sweet scarlet. Sonny can pinpoint the moment he almost rolls his eyes, then decides to just preen under the praise. 

He runs his hands over the length of his body, lets his fingers trace the intricate lines of the camisole. Rafael's breath hitches when one of his fingers brushes a raised nipple, so he does it again and again so he can watch him squirm and whimper with the effort to stay still. 

The idea is almost absurd; that the great Rafael Barba, peacock of the court, could blush and bloom under the hands of someone like him.

"How do you want me?"

He almost laughs at the question. It's a little like asking if he wants cake or ice cream, or if he wants the Mets to win the World Series or the Knicks to not suck anymore. What Barba—what _Rafael_ —needs to understand, what he can't _possibly_ not know, is how truly greedy Sonny is. He wants it all. He wants every single thing Rafael is willing to give him and is willing to beg for more. 

He looks at Rafael's eyes—wide and heady but patient, obedient—and imagines looking into them while he fucks him. It's a beautiful image, damn near perfect in fact, but something tells him that's not what Rafael wants. The desperate way he moved in his office, the demanding yet whiny tone he took on when he asked Sonny if he wanted to fuck him, pointed to something else.

He swallows until his throat starts working again and points to the bed. "Hands and knees."

Rafael nods and hooks his fingers in the lacy black waistband of his panties and pulls down. He doesn't even think before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Rafael's wrists, halting his movements. Rafael looks up at him with wide, questioning eyes. Sonny licks his lips and watches as dark green

"Leave them on," he says, voice dark and foreign to his own ears.

Rafael makes a noise that's halfway between a moan and a whimper and nods. He tugs them back up and places his hands on the headboard. Sonny admires the sinew in muscle in his forearms, so easily distracted by any stretch of skin Rafael is willing to let him drink his fill of.

He grips Rafael's hips and tugs them down until they grinding against each other. Rafael shudders and picks up the movement, swirling circles into Sonny's lap.

"You feel that?" He asks as he grips Rafael's hips and grinds them back against his cock. Rafael makes a noise like he's falling apart. "You feel how hard you make me? Fuck, Raf. Can't wait to be inside you."

"Then do it already," Rafael huffs. 

Sonny laughs, startled and pleased by the sudden change. It's a nice reminder that this is still Rafael, his Rafael; a brat, even when begging to be fucked.

"Condoms?" 

Rafael nods toward the bedside drawer, hands still firmly gripping the headboard. Sonny gets up and takes the time to take off his own clothes until he's bare, relishing the hungry look in Rafael's eyes. The condoms are at the back of the drawer next to a lube bottle three quarters the way full. Ever a glutton for punishment, he takes the time to count out how many after left in the pack of twenty-four. There's twenty-one. Rafael's been with someone, though he doesn't know when. He pushes the idea from his mind and tears one off as he throws the bottle on the bed.

He takes the time to generously coat his fingers. He hooks Rafael's panties just enough to the side to reveal his fluttering hole. He swirls his finger around the tight ring of muscle before pressing inside. The resistance met quickly melts away as Rafael relaxes under his hands.

Rafael takes his fingers like he's made for it. He's three fingers deep and all but fucking him when Rafael makes a frustrated groan and bucks his hips back.

"I'm ready, _fuck_ , I'm ready." He pants and growls. "Get on with it."

Sonny chuckles softly and places a kiss on the small of his back. That bossiness Sonny has grown to love is coming back. Fuck, but he's going to enjoy fucking it right out of him.

When he finally slides inside it's like reaching Nirvana. Rafael is a tight heat around him, delicious and perfect and every way. He bends down to place a kiss between his shoulders, a thank you for the experience before it's even really started.

Rafael arches his back and Sonny goes even deeper with a curse. " _Move_ ," he grunts.

He tightens his grips on Rafael's hips and starts a firm pace. Slow, then a steady in and out that drives them both mad. Rafael sighs and groans deeply back arching and silently begging for more. 

Sonny feels almost delirious from it, from earning those little hitches in Rafael's breaths and needy moans. Rafael doesn't make it easy, but Sonny didn't expect anything less. He's been working for Rafael's praise, his approval, a damn _glance_ for three years now. It's what he expects. It's what he wants. 

"Good boy," Rafael moans when Sonny angles up just so and rips a guttural moan from his chest. Sonny doesn't want to think about why that simple phrase gets him so hot. "Give it to me, just like that."

"You're a force of nature, you know that?" Sonny breathes, hips still pistoning. "Up there with your fancy suits and your couldn't-care--less attitude. Everyone thinks you're this unstoppable, untouchable force. But you let me touch you. You let me see you. I don't think you know what 

There's a million different ways Rafael could turn that around on him and tease him, but all he does his hiccup-groan and say, "Fuck. _Fuck_."

"When you see me sitting in the pin while you're up there dazzling the jury and showing everyone how good you are, are you gonna think about how this little know-nothing detective from Staten Island made you cream your panties and beg for more?"

Rafael moans deep and harsh. Rattled by the heat and the pleasure, Sonny thinks vaguely it's the sound people make when they get shot. 

The tell-tale pressure of an orgasm starts to build in the pit of Sonny's stomach. He's not going to last, not with Rafael moaning and grinding and being so fucking filthy, so fucking _pretty_ like he is. There's so much he wants to tell Rafael while he still has him like this, but then his orgasm hits him and he's rendered down to nothing more than a guttural moan laced with a few half-formed curses. 

Even before he's finished coming he's fists Rafael's cock to push him over the edge. It doesn't take more than a few pumps before Rafael spills into his hand with a sound that will no doubt be etched into Sonny's memory for a lifetime.

After Sonny pulls out Rafael all but crumples into the mattress with a sated sigh. Sonny takes a moment to just look and commit this image to memory--the red lace, the tan skin, the brush of hair on his chest, the smooth lines of his face. He looks away to tie and throw away the condom, then mumbles something about cleaning up just to have an excuse to look away.

When he gets back from the bathroom with a washcloth he's upset to find Rafael bare, the babydoll and panties stashed someone he can't see. There's a beat where he think without it the spell will be broken and Rafael will send him on his way, but he lies back pliantly when Sonny ventures cleaning the come off his abs, and he relaxes just a bit.

Sonny just watches him for a moment before venturing, "Are we going to talk about this?"

Rafael stretches out, lazy and cat-like. He doesn't open his eyes. "About what?"

Sonny huffs. "Rafael."

Rafael sighs and opens his eyes like it's a chore. "I can barely remember my own name. Do we have to talk about it now?"

"Yes, because if we don't do it now you'll just keep making up excuses until we never talk about it at all."

"You think you know me so well."

"Don't I?"

He narrows his eyes at Sonny, assessing, then shrugs. He looks down at picks at a loose thread in the sheet. "I don't mind."

"Don't mind what?"

"Continuing this."

"What is this?" Sonny asks impatiently. Knowing Rafael wouldn't make this easy doesn't make it any better.

Rafael closes his eyes and sighs, performative. When he opens his eyes there's less annoyance. Sonny can't read his expression, but he holds his breath anyway.

"Do you want to spend the night?" He asks.

Sonny frowns. "Uh, I mean, yeah, of course. But that doesn't--"

"I'm more receptive when I've gotten at least six hours rest. I can also juggle disclosure procedures better."

He looks away from Sonny again, this time fiddling with his phone on the nightstand--the nightstand where the picture of his mother is still facedown. Sonny wasn't lying when he said he knew Rafael well. He knows him well enough to know this little display of vulnerability speaks volumes. Maybe it's harder for him to say what he wants without the babydoll and the panties, but Sonny still hears him loud and clear.

"Okay," he says, and it is.They are.

Rafael smiles then. He tugs back the edge of the covers and Sonny eagerly slips alongside him. Despite coming so hard he almost blacked out and the clock on the wall flashing 10:43 PM he feels too keyed up to sleep. He'll take the warmth of Rafael's closeness anyway he can get it, though.

Rafael doesn't turn around to face him, but he does scoot back far enough so that his back is snugly against Sonny's chest. Experimentally, Sonny slides his arm over Rafael's side. After several seconds of Rafael now pulling away, he sighs happily and pulls him in close.

Tomorrow Rafael still probably won't want to talk about it, but Sonny is as patient as he is persistent. He knows--they both know--that this wasn't some one-off fling. Rafael trusted him with something intimate, and Sonny wasn't about to take that for granted.

"I can hear you thinking," Rafael murmurs, voice deep with sleep. 

Sonny allows himself a tender smile where he knows Rafael can't see. "You must have wonderful hearing, then."

"You can think in the morning."

"Technically I can think right now, too. There's nothing stopping me."

Rafael rolls over until they're face to face. Once again Sonny is struck dumb by him, that he gets to hold him like this and bicker with him like this. The thought is almost too much, makes him feel too intensely. He pushes it down with a smirk and a shake of his head.

"You're bossy," he says simply, rather than the sugarcoated poeticisms burning the tip of his tongue. 

Rafael smirks a little too tenderly to be mocking. "Yeah, but you like that, don't you?"

Sonny sighs and gives into the urge to kiss him. Rafael kisses back more forcefully. When he pulls away he catches a glimpse of something that might look like love hiding in the corners of Rafael's green eyes.

"Yeah," he says with a grin, "I do."


End file.
